Prohibition
by Lambent Flame
Summary: Mr. Burns and Smithers are out for a night on the town at the best damn pet shop in town - Moe's speakeasy during Springfield's revival of prohibition. As they get increasingly drunk they discover there is more taboo in the air than just alcohol.
**Prohibition**

"Ah, a night carousing at the local speakeasy! It really takes me back, Smithers." Mr. Burns sipped his martini, then set it down on the bar counter of the best damn pet shop in Springfield.

"Good times?"

"The best, dear friend." Smithers smiled shyly. Such intimate address from the object of his affection never failed to provoke a quiet ecstasy in him. "Cheers," he said, clinking his glass against Smithers'.

"We already toasted, Mr. Burns."

"Oh. So we did. And call me Monty. Tonight, you're off the cock."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Are you deaf, Waylon? I said, 'you're off the clock.' So quit this 'sir' business."

"You've never objected before, si – Monty. If I may ask, why the sudden insistence on first names?"

"I used to go out with my pals like this all the time in the twenties. I was a young man, then, sporting flowing chestnut hair, no wrinkles to be seen, pecs like you wouldn't believe a slender man such as I could achieve. Ah, you should have seen me. I was a real Adonis back in my day."

"You still are."

"Cease your flummery; I told you you aren't on the clock."

"No, I mean it. You're still a sexy man." Smithers sipped his drink, then, scanning Burns from toe to top, lowered his eyelids and said, "A very sexy man."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, back in the twenties, women flocked to me like pigeons to bread. Have I ever told you about my affair with that tasty tartlet starlet during my stay in New York? The strawberry blonde who performed on Broadway."

"Yes, I believe you have – "

"Oh, no I haven't. She had a promising career on the stage, but after one night with Monty Burns – "

"– she couldn't even remember her lines on opening night."

"Oh. I suppose I did tell you. She couldn't think of any other show – or man – for years. You see, she could only think of me. Imagine! Being so stuck on me that for years, she couldn't move on. I guess it's that famous Burns charm."

Smithers stared dreamily into his eyes, wishing he could have been in the place of his old flame. "You must be a fantastic lover."

"More than you'll ever know," he said, sipping his drink.

Smithers gulped his own drink, then set it slowly onto the bar counter, looking straight down to the bottom of his glass. "I'm sure you're right."

"And back in my college days, I was quite the ladies' man. Now, this one I know I haven't told you about. She was a shy, bespectacled bookworm, normally not my type at all. But she had a wild side."

"Oh, Cecilia."

"Yes... Cecilia. If you know my life so well, why don't you tell the story?"

"I won't interrupt anymore, I promise."

"No, I mean, tell me. I want to know what you remember."

"Oh, um... she had black hair, and you met in the library, doing research on... on..."

"Adam Smith's monograph on capitalism."

"That's right, _Wealth of Nations_. And you both reached for the same book – "

"You could omit the embarrassing cliché."

"And you asked her – "

"Why the devil would she want a book like that?"

"And she told you she was a schoolteacher with an interest in economics. And you invited her to your dormitory, where you made her – "

"Research my report for me, yes. And after a few weeks of her researching and outlining my paper, she stood up and said – "

"'Can we just shut up and fuck for once?'"

"Excuse me, Waylon?"

"That is what she said, isn't it?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course. It really took me aback – not just because I was unaccustomed to hearing such language from the fairer sex, but because I'd never intended to make a move on her, only to exploit her intellectual labor." Burns whistled low. "She had a fire in her unlike any I'd seen before or since. She was wild, Smithers. Absolutely wild. I've wished every day since then that someone would make such a bold move on me again, but I suppose I'm destined to always be the pursuer." He sipped his drink. "Then again, who's to say destiny won't change her mind?"

"Destiny is a fickle force. Especially when it comes to putting people together."

"Isn't that the truth, old friend?" He put his arm around Smithers' shoulders. "There's nothing quite as good as this, is there?"

"Nope," he said, sipping his drink. "Not a thing."

"Women always come with burdens and heartbreak."

"It's always nice when you can avoid heartbreak."

"With you and I, it's... everything is... simple. We know who we are, and nothing need change. You'll always be my servant and companion, and I shall always be your boss and companion. And nothing will ever change that." He sipped his drink. "Nothing." He patted Smithers' back, then dragged his arm slowly away. He wobbled on the bar stool, on the precipice of falling over, and Smithers reached his arms out and closed them around Burns' waist to prevent him from falling over, and Burns flopped over atop the bar counter. "Another martini, barkeep."

"Sir – Monty, I think you've had enough."

"That's crazy talk," said Moe, handing him another. "He ain't even blind."

"Don't be a wet blanket, Waylon!"

"Hm..." he murmured in disapproval. "Well, okay. But it's the last one. Scotch on the rocks for me, Moe."

Several cocktails later, they walked out of the bar raucously singing an old tune of the roaring twenties, Smithers propping Mr. Burns up, his arm wrapped around Burns' back and holding him up by the crooks of his arms. They sang off-key and out of sync, " _Stop playing that crazy thing / Crazy words with a crazy swing / I've got those / Vo do do de o blues,_ " then stumbled, turning their heads to each other and laughing as they finished at different times, words slurred and melding into the words the other was singing.

"Ah, Smithers, I love you when you're drunk," he said, stepping into the taxi.

"Oh, Monty," he said, following him inside, "I love you when I'm sober."

"You're such a free spirit when you're soused. You're normally so uptight. I like this side of you."

"I should get drunk more often then." They sat beside each other, Smithers stealing a glimpse of Burns' eyes, and they held their mutual gaze for a few seconds before Smithers blushed and turned away. "This was a great idea, coming out here tonight. I had a wonderful time with you. Thanks for taking me."

"Well, it's never fun drinking alone, and you're the only one I can trust to be around me when I'm drunk." Their hands brushed against each other's and they again looked each other straight in the eye, as if in a stand-off, each daring the other to move.

Smithers was the first to flinch, withdrawing his hand in a mild panic, fearing his lust would manifest – literally.

"In the late twenties, I had a secretary – 'had' in every sense of the word. She was a beautiful brunette, but an uptight bookkeeper. Ann. I'm sure I've told you about her."

"No, you haven't."

"Pish tosh! Of course I have! She was one of those virtuous sorts – would never let a man get near her unless he had a ring on order from Bixler's. But I saw in her a great well of passion rising behind the dam, just waiting to burst forth. Oh, the things we got up to after hours... Let's just say, after I wooed her, dictation wasn't all she took."

"She was a lucky woman."

"Indeed. Waylon, the things she'd do... you could only imagine."

"And I do."

"How I'd like to do those things again..."

"And how I'd like to do them, too."

"I haven't even told you what we did."

"But I imagined it." He paused. "And besides, I would do anything to please a person if they were someone I really loved."

"As spineless drunk as sober, I see." He looked away, out the window. "But it would have to be someone skilled. A real free spirit. An animal just begging to be unchained and let loose."

"I know what that's like. Sometimes I feel like my heart's been chained up for half my life, waiting for the right person to pick the lock."

"Why don't you come out, already?"

"Huh?"

"We're home, you fool. Get out of the cab and pay the man."

"Oh! Oh, right." He got out of the cab, paid the driver, and helped steady Mr. Burns as they approached the front door.

Once inside, they walked into a sitting room, and Smithers lit a fire in the fireplace. Burns patted the seat beside him on the sofa. "Come here."

Smithers sat beside him, and Burns pulled out a bottle of cognac and two glasses from the floor beside the armrest and poured them each a glass. "Have some. There is plenty more where that came from."

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you want to go drinking at Moe's if you have such a collection of fine wines and spirits?"

"It's fun to break the law. Ever since man crawled out of the muck, he's yearned to flout the rule of law."

"But sir, you break the law every time we do your tax returns."

"Yes, but this time we get to do it in front of a group and no one gives a damn." He sipped his drink. "What is it about taboos that makes them so fun to break?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never found it much fun."

"Bah! What would you know about breaking taboos?"

"More than I'd like to."

"Have you ever had a homosexual experience?" Smithers choked on his drink. "No need to be offended; I wouldn't have thought less of you if you had." Smithers, still reeling, stammered, or rather, tried to, but no sounds came out. "I have," said Mr. Burns.

"You...have?" Smithers leaned in, clasping his hands on his knees to stave off the temptation to reach out and touch Mr. Burns.

"Yes. During the twenties." He sipped his drink. "There was an openness, then, about these things...especially while on holiday in Berlin."

"What was it...? What did you...?"

"Never you mind those details. They are not for your prurient prodding."

"But you enjoyed it?"

"We weren't all a pack of prudes like you young people often think. In my day, we rebelled against society's prohibitions."

"I never cared for prohibition...of any kind."

"Nor have I." Smithers' heart skipped and fluttered about, his lungs seized, unable to breathe as they stared into each other's eyes, feeling each others' breath on his lips.

Smithers slowly brought a hand to Burns' cheek and kissed him, a brief yet impassioned peck on the lips.

"Smithers, I –" Smithers kissed him again, slower, passionately, with a subdued lust. He held Burns' chest closely against his own, and Burns hesitantly extended his hands to grip Smithers' back. They parted, Smithers gazing wide-eyed in terrified ecstasy. Mr. Burns reciprocated his gaze, equally thrilled and terrified.

"Did you...Did...?" Smithers tried to ask him whether he liked it, but couldn't quite finish.

"Waylon...?"

"Mr. Burns, I love you."

He pulled himself out of Smithers' arms and scooted away to the far side of the couch. "Smithers... don't say that. If you keep saying that, eventually I'm going to have no choice but believe it, and I won't know what to do with you."

"But I do, sir, I do love you."

"You're drunk, Smithers. I'm drunk. That's all there is to it. That's all there can be to it."

"But there's so much more... sir, times are different now."

"We just came from a speakeasy; how different can they be?"

"A love is a love is a love is a love. Let's take it slow; take time to figure yourself out."

"There's nothing to figure out!"

"I'll wait for you."

"What?"

"I'll wait for you to kiss me when you're ready. I don't care how long it takes."

"You'll be waiting for an eternity."

"If anyone can outlive eternity, it's you."

"Don't make me do this, Waylon..."

"I won't tell a soul about our moment. Nobody needs to know but us."

"I warned you..."

Smithers ran his fingers through Burns' hair. "You're so beautiful..."

"You're nothing to me! You're nothing more than a pawn. I don't need you playing these pranks on me; if you persist in these japes, I'll find myself another lackey."

"Mr. Burns..."

"Not another word out of you." Smithers cried quietly while Burns looked coldly on. "I'm retiring now," he said, going to his bedroom and leaving Smithers alone.

The next morning, despite his hangover, Smithers hauled himself up and prepared Burns' breakfast, then brought it to his bed. He set the food on a tray and set his hand gently on the inside of Burns' wrist, rubbing slightly. "Good morning, sir."

One eyelid flickering open, Burns turned over and buried his head into his pillow, the soft light filtering in through the window as bright to his eyes as a million-Watt bulb. "What's good about it?" He turned his head sharply from the pillow and glared at Smithers' hand on his wrist with one eye squinted shut and yanked his arm away.

"Mr. Burns, about last night –"

"Nothing happened last night."

"Exactly. I was just drunk, and..."

"Yes, yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Smithers. I tire of your groveling."

"Yes, sir." He set the tray in front of Mr. Burns. "Here's your orange juice, freshly squeezed."

"Excellent."


End file.
